


Every Letter of My Love

by shippers_log



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Barrels - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-02
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2018-04-24 10:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4915612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shippers_log/pseuds/shippers_log
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each letter of the alphabet and how it represents the everlastingly lovely relationship between Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield.</p><p>(A drabble collection in accordance with the Bagginshield Alphabet event from Tumblr. Each chapter will have its own specific tags in the notes if necessary.)</p><p>(Edit: Hi actually this is discontinued bc I never finished the challenge but here’s two chapters anyway!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Angst, post-BOTFA, canon compliant, major character death (mentioned)

The snow stretched on for miles around, a soft white blanket over what were once rolling green hills bathed in sunshine. The only breaks between the fresh mounds and the bleak winter sky were the brightly colored doors and windows peeking out from snowbanks, little plumes of smoke rising from near-buried chimneys as their inhabitants struggled to stay warm. A barely visible road wound lazily amidst the hills, connecting home to home throughout the row.

On the path, a lone figure trudged slowly, a walking stick in hand and body wrapped thoroughly against the bitter cold. They continued this way for quite some time; meanwhile, the snow began to fall thicker and faster than before, slowing their progress to a crawl.

Had anyone dared to peer out their window into the vast icy wonderland, they would have noticed the figure's destination lay at the top of the hill, to a round green door set into the hillside. Of course, one wouldn't think to watch for travelers at such a time, as it would be rightly assumed that only a foolhardy person indeed would brave the brisk winds of a coming winter storm. Alas, it was thanks to this assumption that Bilbo Baggins arrived at his home unobserved.

The door to Bag End swung open silently, allowing entry to the shivering hobbit who immediately stamped snow off of his large feet before swiftly closing the door. Bilbo dropped his stick to the side and rushed to the fireplace, eager to warm his poor frozen toes. After several failed attempts—due in part to his trembling fingers—and much swearing, a roaring fire rose in the hearth.

"Oh, thank heavens," Bilbo said as he stripped off his winter coat and hung it to dry by the fire, "And here I thought I'd die of chill! What a fine end that'd be for me!" Chuckling self-deprecatingly, he shuffled to the kitchen and set a kettle to boil, peering idly through his collection before settling on a festive peppermint tea. Bilbo returned to the sitting room—retrieving a book as he went—sank into his favorite armchair, and propped his feet up near the hearth.

A most contented sigh escaped Bilbo as he stared longingly at the leather-bound tome on his lap. The cover was of a deep green and embossed with an elegant willow tree, the branches stretching to encompass the edges and form a frame. Flipping the book open, he indulged in the finest—in fact the only—elven poetry in the Shire, smiling briefly each time he found a particularly entertaining ode. The shriek of the kettle brought Bilbo out of his reverie abruptly and he hastened to remove it from the heat. He prepared the tea almost automatically, much as one performs any action after years of comfortable repetition.

As he settled back into his seat, tea in hand, the only sounds in the entire smial were that of pages turning and the constant ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. The ticks resounded through the smial, reverberating through each nook and cranny. That aside, it was peacefully, blissfully quiet.

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

The book closed with a soft _whump_ and Bilbo stood, stretching and yawning loudly. "Well," he said, "I suppose I should get to bed now, shouldn't I?" He paused, as though waiting for a reply, though he expected none and heard nothing but his own voice. "Yes, it's been a rather long day," he sighed, placing the book on the side table and wincing as it hit the wood harder than he had intended.

As Bilbo placed his dishes in the sink and walked to his bedroom, the soft pad of his feet echoed around him. He ignored the sudden pang in his chest and undressed, slipping into his nightgown and crawling into the cold bed. Snuggling under the duvet, he closed his eyes and laid still. However, sleep eluded him. Bilbo tossed and turned futilely, unable to bring himself to rest. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling.

He could count the wooden support beams in the light of the moon that shone through his window. Movement at his feet caught his attention and Bilbo looked down to see that it was indeed his foot shifting. Oddly, he thought of how large his bed felt all of a sudden.

How empty.

"Bilbo, you fool," he whispered, "What's gotten into you? Thinking such maudlin thoughts will drive you mad!" He laid silently again, listening to the sound of the sitting room clock as its ticking filtered through his open door.

_Tick._

_Tick._

_Tick._

He reached out on either side of him, feeling the cool sheets, and was reminded of another cool surface, another body _laid out spread eagled and dark hair flowing in a halo around his head as a pool of red began to spread beneath him and why this couldn't be happening it was so cold why him why him live live please live—_

Bilbo took a deep breath and shut out the memories. It wouldn't do to dwell on what was nor what could have been. What was done was done. It was over, and he had lived, and he was home.

He was home.

—

That night, he dreamed.

He dreamt of blue eyes and soft smiles, of a heavy brow and dark hair streaked with silver, of weathered hands and tender words.

He dreamt of these things, and though he knew it not, he wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They had some prompts on Tumblr, but I couldn't stop thinking "alone." So here we have a nice little angsty Bilbo bit.
> 
> Poor Bilbs.
> 
> (Also sorry for the low word count, I'm still warming up but tomorrow's will be a bit better and longer.)


	2. B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter I apparently saved since 2015, when this alphabet challenge started (and ended). I’m trying to get back into the swing of writing fic, but I think this ought to be published after waiting so long.
> 
> Three years later and I’m still not over Bagginshield. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It is told amongst all Dwarves that Mahal created them to last and, like the stone they were carved from, so too do they proudly stand staunch and unyielding. Additionally, they sink in water much like rocks. It was no great surprise then that the Company of Thorin Oakenshield protested greatly—and some might say almost pitifully—to being shoved in barrels and thrown into a river. After all, no dwarf in their right mind would willingly immerse themselves in raging rapids and expect to come out alive.

Fortunately, these dwarves being on a quest to slay a dragon and such, it's safe to say that they weren't in their right minds—though no one would be fool enough to tell Thorin as much.

Of course, one need only have to ask their fourteenth member and he would immediately elaborate on how exactly insane these particular dwarves may be. Said fourteenth member wouldn't have been able to answer at that moment, though, for he was clinging to the side of a barrel for dear life and semi-consciously ruing the day he agreed to go on an adventure.

As the company raced down the rapids after a harrowing battle against orcs—and, almost as bad, elves—they spun here and there, some yelling in fear while others whooped with amusement (namely Bofur, Fili, and Kili). After a final gut-wrenching drop, the river slowed and they were able to paddle to the edge of the current. There was a collective sigh of relief as one by one they dragged themselves up the riverbed and onto solid ground.

"Oh, sweet merciful Mahal! I can feel my legs!"

"I'll never set foot on water again!"

"'Course not, you'd sink right through—"

"—feel like a drowned fish!"

"Is that even possible?"

The dwarves exited their respective barrels, bemoaning their soaked attire and confiscated weapons, which remained in Thranduil's halls. While they clamored amongst themselves, a considerably bedraggled and irritated hobbit flopped onto the ground. Bilbo sighed heavily and glared at his companions, who were now fussing over each other as they checked for injuries—especially Kili's leg, which appeared to be paining him even more as time went on—and took inventory of their meager supplies. Every few seconds they would turn to look at their lucky member, as though making sure he hadn't disappeared while they were talking. In fact, at this point Bilbo was of half a mind to do just that.

' _Lucky number indeed! Half-drowned and thrown about like a rag doll! I agreed to dragon-burglary,_ ' Bilbo thought miserably, ' _I did_ not _agree to save a group of_ idiot _dwarves from_ every _accursed creature on this bloody_ stupid _quest!_ '

His thoughts were interrupted as he coughed harshly, retching a thin stream of bile and water, after which his throat ached something fierce and caused him to continue coughing. A heavy hand gently patting his back startled him and he whipped around, almost smacking the face of the dwarf behind him.

"Thorin? Oh goodness, I'm terribly sorry," he tried to say, but was cut off midway by a new bout of hacking. This prompted more back-patting, which confused Bilbo and oddly made it harder for him to breathe. Thorin's brow knit together, his usual frown deepening at the raspy sounds coming from the hobbit.

"Are you unwell, Master Baggins? If so, speak now," Thorin said brusquely, "Oin is binding Kili's wound and I suggest you take care of whatever ails you before we set out again. It wouldn't do for our burglar to fall ill."

Bilbo almost choked, such was his surprise at Thorin's concern. His face grew warm—probably from anger and lack of air, he reasoned—and he took several breaths before regaining his speech. "Oh, no, I'm perfectly _fine_. Just trying to recover from _almost drowning_. Aside from that, I'm doing absolutely _wonderful_."

The dwarf king looked confused for a moment, an expression which didn't suit his face and caused Bilbo to become even more heated because _how dare he make that face does he not understand sarcasm it's no wonder we're in this mess he's so dense my gods_ —

"Master Baggins?"

The deep voice knocked Bilbo out of his thoughts and he realized he'd been staring at Thorin's face for an indecent amount of time, thinking about how so many emotions played out on his regal features. A flush worked its way up Bilbo's face and he stuttered as he suddenly remembered the large hand still resting on his mid-back.

"I-I'm alright, really. You said we were leaving soon, yes? I'll just go check what we have and leave." At this, Thorin nodded and stalked off, most likely to check on Kili and Oin's progress. A smile crept up his face and his heart skipped as he watched the king walk away. Bilbo released a breath he hadn't realized he was still holding; despite the continuously bleak circumstances, he felt lighter somehow. His right hand languorously lifted to cover his heart and the grin slowly slipped off his face.

' _Uh oh._ '

—

Thorin walked about the clearing swiftly, his thoughts still occupied with the possibly sick hobbit and his injured sister-son. The sight of his company, pale and bloated, filled his mind and he grimaced; it pained him to even think on such a horrific outcome. He shook his head to clear it of soaked curls and blank green eyes, which unnerved him to no great end. Upon speaking with Dwalin and Nori, they found a sparse amount of weapons held between them all, including the sword he had taken from one of the vile Orcs.

' _Well_ ,' Thorin thought to himself, picking up the scavenged blade, ' _It could be much worse._ '

Abruptly, an arrow embedded itself into the log beside him and he turned sharply to see a tall Man archer.

"Drop your sword, or the next one goes between your eyes."

' _Oh, joy.'_

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for reading my fic(s)! I hope you have an amazing day you wonderful person! :D
> 
> (Also if you want to talk about the feels—or anything really—I'm also on Tumblr as bloody-books!)


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